There’s no winning. Best to keep your mouth shut.
But – god help me – I may just vote for Trump.
Not because I like Trump – I suspect his Dear Leader tendencies – but because I love what he has done to Jeb! and Lyin’ Ted (the next-best thing to Jeb!) and even more satisfying, the entire cohort of oily, cap-toothed “neoconservative” warfare staters.
In particular Billy Kristol, publisher of The Weekly Standard – the bible of chickenhawks who love war so long as someone else does the dying.
Guys like Kristol (and Rush and Hannity and Mittens, too) never get their own hands wet. The want blood on other people’s hands – while they chortle in psychopathic ecstasy on Fox News, probably masturbating each other under the table at the thought of it all.
I know this bastard Kristol personally. Well, I know personally about his oleaginous machinations; his Cheshire Cat wheedling behind the scenes, the way he fed Talking Points to house-trained “conservative” media organs like The WashingtonTimes, where I worked for a number of years as an editorial writer and columnist.
It was an eye-opening experience.
I saw the man behind the curtain.
And his name was (and still is) Billy.
Oh, he manifests in different guises. George (times two) and Dick (several Dicks) sometimes. And Don and Ted and Paul and Mittens, too. But it is always Billy’s voice emanating from their traps.
How these people got the power they have to direct public opinion (well, “conservative” opinion – by directing the editorial policy of “conservative” media) is something I have yet to grok.
But power they most definitely have.
I used to come to work very early in the morning, hours before the others. It’s when I’m at my best for writing. Being there first happened to mean I was also the guy who checked the office fax machine first (we had fax machines back in the ‘90s). Every day – literally – there would be faxes from something called The Project for The New American Century – an entity almost no one outside of the inner circles of DC politics had ever even heard of at the time.
It was run by Billy.
These faxes urged War and more War. And more Security, too. America must “rebuild” her defenses (read: chuck more money at the Offense Industry, which already consumed more of the federal budget than any other item and needed “rebuilding” in the same way that Marlon Brando needed another triple angus Thickburger) and “take out” (always the tough guy talk from guys far from tough themselves) “evildoers” and “enemies of freedom” such as Saddam (always referred to by his first name).
Guess where George The Elder got that?
The same place his son got that.
Whatever ideas these two had, they got them by way of Billy. It seemed the entire “conservative” Republican establishment sat like the RCA dog in front of Billy’s Victrola … keen to hear their master’s voice.
The faxes themselves were not odd. All sorts of faxes came over the transom. What was very peculiar was the way the editorial page staff – the way the editorial page editor – treated anything from Billy much the same as the Israelites received injunctions from Moses.
Billy’s talking points became editorials – almost verbatim – the very next day.
Why, I wondered? Does Billy possess photographs of the editorial page editor and a goat, together as one in the moonlight?
I never found out exactly why Billy wielded such influence. But the fact remained: he did. For all practical purposes, he was the editorial page editor of The Times. Which was in those days what Fox News is today – the front organization for the Republican Party.
Or rather, the elements that controlled it.
Then came 911 – interestingly named and even more interesting that it occurred on that particular day, to make that particular naming possible. Billy got his wish.
This has Billy throwing a conniption fit. He is so enervated by Trump that he threatens to back not merely Mittens (a Chimp with better hair) or some other safe bet toady… but Hillary. Which is gratifying to me because it exposes Billy’s true self.
What he really is.
Which is about as “conservative” as I am short.
And I am six feet three.
The Long Con is genuinely threatened. The co-opting of the “conservative” political side off the aisle by Manchurians like Billy. They figured they could beat the Bible a little bit, bash some fags (well, they let eager tools like the Chimp and Lyin’ Ted do that for them) and the people not on the political left would faithfully support them and thus the Wars because … well, what choice did they have?
Now they have a choice.
And Billy is beside himself.
Which ought to fill every American’s heart – left or right, liberal or conservative – with transcendent joy. If Trump’s victory means the shattering of Billy’s power, the end of the neo-con con, then I will not only vote for The Donald, I will put a sign in my front yard for The Donald.
Getting rid of Billy – all the Billys – is as crucial at this moment as throwing sand on a fire before the thing gets out of hand. Or – more apt – getting rid of the termites before the foundation becomes unfixable.
If that takes Trump, so be it.
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